Slayers: Link
by ShiverDragon
Summary: A next-gen story of epic proportions. Takes place 21-22 years after TRY, as a reborn Valgaav struggles to find himself in a war-torn world, accompanied by various ryozoku, humans, mazoku, and a certain younger brother. Rated PG-13 for violence
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A/n: Please read Bright Darkness before Reading this, or you might be just a little confused . Domo.

The deep, resonating clash of sword against sword rang out against the soft silence of dusk. Barron, cracked earth gave forth an abundance of dust below the feet of two combatants, oblivious to their mortal struggles. The adversaries continued their battle, whirling like wraiths amongst the dust while their weapons gleamed in the half-light. After a particularly violent clash, the two were forced to step back, allowing the dust to settle in a small standoff.

One of the fighters, an older man covered with scars from past battles, was wiping blood from a split lip while drawing in ragged breaths. His dark blue eyes glared from beneath jet-black brows as he tried to intimidate his younger opponent. Unfortunately for him, his opponent was looking quite calm and collected, and wasn't even breathing very hard for all the time they had been fighting. Noticing the small look of despair in the face of his enemy, the younger fighter smiled and narrowed his bright orange eyes, bringing up his sword again in preparation for another charge. The scarred man grunted a curse and brought up his own weapon, dreading what was to come.

Gracefully brandishing a thin, curved sword, Valgaav attacked with an exhilarating yell. His enemy parried the strike with his larger blade, and there was a moment of tension as the black-haired man bore down on the youth with all his strength. Using the situation to his advantage, Val sidestepped the downward stoke and whirled in a wide slash, barely missing the other man's head, but giving him a rather unbecoming haircut. A few feet of shiny, wavy black hair fluttered to the ground like a bizarre ribbon, and the scarred man's eyes misted a little at the sight, before he turned in deadly rage to a still smiling Val.

His attack was much more vicious this time, the precious loss fueling a new strength in the tired swordsman, and causing the youth to focus purely on defense for a time. Eventually, though, the serious defense became nothing more than a mocking farce, as Val blocked, dodged, or overpowered every attack presented. In another terrific entanglement of metal, the black-haired swordsman found himself without a weapon as his broadsword was deflected out of his hands and into the dirt meters away. His anxious look returned, and his fears of not surviving the fight became absolute.

Val smirked mercilessly at his once proud opponent's fear and agitation, placing his sword over his shoulder in an open, casual stance. Then, his adversary properly enraged and humiliated, he turned his back and walked away, confident in his victory. Snarling, the black haired swordsman watched him go, his pride as a warrior boiling violently.

As soon as he could take it no longer, and Val was well out of slashing range, the swordsman sprang from his spot, leaping for his discarded weapon. Catching hold of the hilt, he stood and took a few long, running steps, then heaved the broadsword like a javelin straight towards his enemy's retreating back. The man grinned as his sword traveled right on target, quickly closing in on the unsuspecting prey. Just as the weapon was about to hit, however, Val sidestepped the attack, grabbing the hilt as it flew past without the slightest hint of effort.

After allowing the dust to settle once again, he slowly looked back towards his adversary, turning an expression of dry annoyance upon the now shocked swordsman. Still angry, he shifted his grip on his enemy's sword and whirled around, throwing the weapon like a dysfunctional boomerang back at his frightened foe. Gathering his senses just in time, the black-haired swordsman ducked just enough so that his head wasn't completely chopped off by the flying blade, but he still managed to get yet another chunk of rich, dark hair shorn from the top of his skull. He gasped and touched his head, emitting a cry of despair as he discovered nary a hair atop his pale and slightly bleeding scalp.

The swordsman, now with one more scar to add to his collection, glared at Val while trying to fight tears, only to find his young opponent smiling mirthfully back, his bright orange eyes laughing with absolute victory. Swallowing his pride at last, the scarred man got to his feet and dashed away, his cape flying in the dusty trail he left behind. Sheathing his own sword, Valgaav once again walked away from the battlefield, now completely confident in his triumph.

He took the opportunity to look around his environment, something he had ignored when he met up with the unfortunate swordsman that had been his opponent. The other man and his entourage had instigated the fight, saying something about sharpening his skills, but after having a little fun, Val had been happy to show him exactly how good his 'skills' were.

The guy obviously wasn't too intelligent, these were violent times, and even the most sheltered of idiots knew not to pick fights with strangers, despite any outward appearances. The black-haired man's supposed comrades had run off when things started getting only a little violent, leaving Val with only a small dual with an under-skilled, yet extremely smug, opponent. Having to fight duals was getting a bit too easy for him anyway; he didn't even have to use magic to win battles anymore.

He refrained from killing the man in the end, though his final cowardly attack was of the utmost annoyance. This was out of both pity and caution, one never knew who had friends in high places, and royalty or high-class nobility could easily send hired killers after anyone they didn't like

_Then again… maybe a couple bounty hunters would be better sport that these losers…_ he thought sourly, searching the bleak landscape for the nearby town he was supposed to be going to. The dead section of dirt he had fought on used to be part of that town, but somewhere along the line it had gotten obliterated in a mazoku or ryozoku battle. Battles had been increasing steadily in number and intensity over the years, and were gradually taking their toll on human civilizations.

Val kicked the dirt and began to walk again, taking his mind off of worldly matters and focusing on his own. The sun had fallen quickly, casting the world before him into dull gray tones and swirling dust clouds. Nocturnal creatures began their eternal dialogue, and a few scavenging birds soared in the distance, looking for new meals. None of this was of particular interest to Val, and, seeing he wouldn't make it back into town before they closed the gates and locked down for the night, he simply looked for his next camping spot in the desolate environment.

His concentration was abruptly interrupted, however, by a feral howl emanating from the broad darkness before him. He straightened a little, half drawing his sword. Wolves would be easy enough to handle, if that was what the noise had come from, but lately the land had become so thick with demons and bestial creatures it was impossible to tell a simple wolf howl from that of a vicious, blood-drinking nightshade.

Val was not at all comforted when a pair of glowing red eyes materialized, silently moving towards him from the left. He frowned, but kept his sword sheathed and his mind alert. The eyes disappeared in a slow movement, and the earth became eerily silent. The teal-haired swordsman, looking rather annoyed now, drew his sword in a fluid movement, focusing on his surroundings for any sign of attack.

Calling upon years of experience and unusually sharp reflexes, he sensed the attack rather than saw it, and turned quickly to slash his assailant. Unfortunately, he was much to late to cut anything but air, and a powerful set of fang-filled jaws clamped onto his arm. The force and speed of the attack caught him off guard, and, losing a short battle with gravity, he was pulled to the ground by a large, white/grey-furred beast. Luckily for him he had worn armored gauntlets, though they cracked slightly under the jaw pressure and the animal's saliva rolled down his arm. Deep red eyes glared at him, and Val's own eyes widened a little in recognition.

"You…" he growled at the wolf, his frown deepening. The beast growled back with equal malice, biting down harder and widening the crack in his armor. The small standoff lasted for a few moments as man and canine shared their mutual discontent, until Val couldn't take it anymore and frantically attempted to free his arm. After a magnificent scuffle, involving much growling, biting, and grappling, he did manage to get his arm back, though the wolf retained possession of the armor.

"Stupid mutt," He began, looking indignant and rubbing his arm "what the hell is wrong with you anyway?" The animal sneered and lay down on the dirt, happily chewing on its new toy and ignoring the agitated swordsman. Val closed his eyes in an attempt to regain composure, trying to disregard the twitch at the side of his mouth and the angry throbbing of his veins. Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword, pointed it toward the offending creature, and gave his patented death glare.

In response, the wolf hardly flicked an ear, and tore another chunk of leather off of the gauntlet. Grinding his teeth, Val took a step into his intended attack, stirring up more fine, ashen dust from the harsh landscape as he prepared to strike. The beast itself continued to ignore him completely, of course; either very ignorant of the situation or very confident of a way out.

Just as he got close enough to do anything about it, though, Val's concentration was interrupted as the wolf suddenly stopped what it was doing and stared intently into the darkness. The mangled gauntlet hung limply from its jaws, forgotten. Blinking, Val turned his head in the same direction, but even his sharp vision couldn't pierce but a few feet of night air.

He turned back to the wolf just in time to see his own armor come flying back at his face, cracking against his nose and sending him earthward. Eyes wide with pain and surprise, Val loudly cursed the canine as he crashed down into a sitting position. Cradling a slightly bleeding nose, he watched the wolf's silvery grey form leap into the darkness, leaving a small trail of dusty paw prints behind before disappearing from sight.

Still cursing, Val rubbed his nose gingerly and stood up. Sneering in the direction the wolf had gone, he gathered his bearings and began to collect his things. He had no doubts as to who would be showing up next, and sighed as his anger dissipated. It was really no use to get mad at his brother's dog, annoying as the animal was most of the time. Val found his sword and sheathed it, and picked up his mangled and discarded gauntlet.

Summoning a quick light spell, he examined the damage. The top, silvery armored part had a nasty crack, and all the bottom bindings that weren't missing altogether were significantly chewed up. But, after trying it on again, he found that it still basically served its purpose, or at least it would until he could get a new one. At any rate it now matched the rest of his torn up and derelict armor, which had been wrecked over the years both by strong opponents and certain irritating pets.

A soft shifting of dust caused Val to shift from his thoughts back to his surroundings. He turned towards the noise; searching the darkness while the light spell hovered silently beside him. The night had advanced into its darkest stages, with the clouded, deep blue sky hardly distinguishable from the absolute blackness of the earth, but the faint, white light of the spell offered at least a small reprieve. The sounds were at regular intervals, and, by the specific grinding and scuffing of the dirt, were most likely footfalls.

Val's sensitive hearing immediately distinguished two separate beings from the noise they made, one of them definitely the wolf who had so recently run away, and the other most likely the owner of the beast. He shifted into a more casual stance, and set his expression into the most mature-yet-irritated one he could muster. The damnable animal had once again pricked his pride and ruined one of his possessions, and that wouldn't go without some kind of punishment. This time, Val was serious. Or so he thought. The owner in question always managed to escape penalty, usually by simple use of argumentative skill.

The footfalls, however, quickly increased in frequency and noise, indicating the person coming towards him was now moving at a running pace. Val blinked in slight confusion. _Another enemy? Shit…_. He moved into a hasty defensive position, drew his blade, and squinted into the musty darkness in the direction of the sound. He tensed as the shadowy figure ran right at him, drawing back his sword and setting his face to a calm glare of concentration, ready for anything on a hair trigger. In a sudden movement, however, one of the straps on Val's mangled gauntlet snapped, sending the tough, protective armor plating flying onto his rather wide-eyed and surprised face.

The hard edge of the armor hit him squarely on his already sore nose, causing to yelp and drop his sword. At that moment his attacker also chose to emerge from the shadows in a dead run: a boy of around 16 years with a cheerful, wicked smile on his face. He was carrying a large, overstuffed traveling pack that was almost as big as he was, and as soon as he came into view he skidded to a halt, using the momentum to swing the large pack at the distressed swordsman before him with an excessive amount of force and an exhilarating yell.

Val's bright orange eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, pain, confusion, and rage at his cheerful attacker before the heavy pack crashed into him, sending him once again to the dirt. He now lay on his stomach under the weight of the bulky pack, giving his attacker a strange mix between death glare and angry pout while blood continued to drip from his injured nose.

The silver wolf appeared at her master's side, giving the glowering Val the equivalent of a victory grin before she hopped on top of the pack and lay down, adding more weight and producing an 'omph' from the teal-haired youth. The boy got down to ground level to face the trapped swordsman, and tilted his head to the side with an amused expression.

"Hi"

Val growled deeply, slowly placing both hands on the ground as the broken gauntlet piece swung wildly, threatening to hit him once again despite all his serious anger. The boy's smile was replaced with curiosity, and the wolf peeked down from her perch atop the pack to see Val's reaction.

Grinding his teeth, Val took a moment to collect himself, then pushed off the ground, causing the wolf to yelp as her seat was flipped to the side and she tumbled down next to her master.

"Both of you are dead!"

In another part of the dusty field, a lone man stumbled through the darkness, muttering curses under his breath. His once proud wavy black hair hung in straggled tresses, with a distinct bald patch of raw and scarring scalp gleaming from the top of his skull. Alternating between whimpers of defeat and vicious snarls of rage, he fruitlessly searched for his former compatriots while simultaneously looking for the light of the small town his group had been staying at.

I wasn't like he wanted to stay there, oh no. It was too much of a run down dump to even be called a town anymore, in his most superior opinion. The streets were full of beggars, bandits, and thieves, or any combination of such in each and every scrawny citizen. The markets sold nothing but stale foods and silly trinkets at unreasonably high prices. All this from dirty commoners no less, people who were not fit to be crushed under his heel, let alone try to sell his some menial piece of trash to "save their starving family".

But, unfortunately for him, it was the only place to stay for many miles, and he hadn't felt like another three-day walk to the next village or camping out with his rowdy, boneheaded entourage.

Not that any of that mattered now. He was stuck in a place even worse than that boorish town, and his own men had abandoned him at the slightest hint of danger.

"Some band of warriors they were," he muttered to himself, "the greatest fighters in all the kingdom, all gathered together for a grand quest of glory for their great and wise King, and they all run away when we meet one kid who knows a few sword tricks." He continued on in this manner, his words dripping with sarcasm as he insulted his men one by one. It did make him feel better, after all, and he had all the right to do it after their cowardly acts.

Eventually, a small smile returned to his lips as he verbally assaulted the boyish squire and squirrel-brained nobleman's son, imagining their agitated yet duty-bound faces right in front of him. Oh, he would make them pay for their cowardice all right, and when he found them there would be absolutely no mercy. He might even send a few of the weaker, whinier ones walking straight back to the kingdom, which was a good half-month's traveling time, and especially long with no horse or money.

Grinning at his imagined punishments, he hardly noticed where he was going, and bumped right into a rock that had appeared in the darkness before him. Uttering a yelp of surprise, he sprawled backwards into the dirt, landing painfully on his rump. He looked up at the offending rock, prepared to bash it into pieces for so daring to strike him down out of nowhere. But his blue eyes widened slightly in surprise, for it wasn't rock, but a man that stood before him, glaring down with a look of disgust in his cerulean eyes.

At least, he thought it was a look of disgust, as the other man's lower face was covered with a black cloth, and the rest of his head was concealed with a thick black hood. In fact, his entire body was clothed in deep black garments; with gloves, tunic, pants, shoes, and the thick cloth of a cloak offering not one alternative hue. The only skin showing at all was the small rectangle where his eyes were, which now glared coldly at the black-haired man, framed by a few wiry pieces of pale blue hair.

The swordsman trembled involuntarily at the aura being emitted from the stone-man, and scooted slowly backwards in the dirt until he felt it safe to stand up. His every instinct was telling him to run screaming into the night, but his mind refused to budge. This person had just blatantly gotten in his way, and, as a man, that was not something he tolerated. Puffing his chest while trying to control his fear, the black-haired, semi-bald swordsman stood his ground and pointed one accusing finger at the stone-man who had so wronged him.

"You there, state your name and rank. I am Prince Aratendil Simon Relas de Xoana, and you have marred my honor. Step quietly to the side and I shall overlook this with dignity and regard to circumstance. Choose to stay and I shall be forced, under the codes of principle and my family, to strike you down where you stand in the holy name of my father the King," he said, with practiced importance and all the flare of years of strict speech classes. To his credit, it was an impressive speech, and his expression was as proud and steadfast as his word.

But the stone-man did not move.

After a few moments of glaring standoff, the prince's mouth began to twitch in annoyance and residual fear from his first impression. Sweat dripped slowly down his face, tickling his brow and neck till he could stand it no more.

"A-Alight then, sir. I am forced to take action. Take heed that you have been warned," he stated in a wavering voice, sounding more like a frightened boy than a man.

With that, the prince reached toward his sword with a shaking hand, prepared to honor his words but completely afraid to do so. The enemy's aura had increased in intensity, and it was almost painful to be around it. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, he forced his hand to grab the hilt with one strong movement, and began to pull the broadsword from the scabbard.

His attention was shattered in an instant, as he looked up to see his opponent unsheathe his longsword in a wide, graceful ark. The stone-man moved so quickly he seemed to vanish, appearing right in front of the prince skewering him cleanly through his gut. The prince gasped with pain and surprise, his hand jerking away from his own weapon. Without changing his cold expression, the stone-man switched his grip on his sword, and ripped through to the prince's side with a clean, ruthlessly strong movement.

His sword came free of the body with a grandiose spray of blood, and the shocked prince screamed. The attack had taken only seconds. Collapsing to his knees, the prince's shaking hands grasped at his stomach, attempting to hold in severed organs. His breathing became quick and panicky and his muscles slowly went numb.

He eventually fell onto his side, curling into a ball while his body convulsed with pain. His tearing eyes looked once again upon the man who had mortally wounded him, and saw him calmly wiping blood from his sword, and re-sheathing the weapon with the same lightening quickness of before.

He still wore that same cold, blank expression in his eyes, and looked upon his opponent with disgust.

"Y… your name…. Say it so…. so that I m…. might avenge… avenge myself….," the prince said, blood oozing from his mouth. He felt light headed and delusional. His abdomen started going cold, but his mind refused to let himself die; to even register the mortal wound was going to take his life. He was on an important mission for his father, and would not be forgiven if he failed. He simply could not die; it was not possible.

The stone man was unaffected by this plea, and his cold gaze watched over the scene as if it were nothing. In a moment of amusement, perhaps, he decided to humor his victim.

"I used to be called..." he stated in a strange, quiet voice, as if he had never spoken before.

"Zelgadis."

With those words, the stone-man turned and walked away into darkness, leaving the proud man to die in slow agony amongst dust and shadows.

"Hmph."

Val fell back to the dirt as he tried to regain his breath. The day had been quite eventful, and in truth he was genuinely tired from all the fighting he had been doing. Looking directly in front of him, his previous 'attacker' also sat back, panting with equal fatigue.

After his initial outburst, Val had gotten into a bit of a yelling fit, which was only further enflamed by his foe's response of uproarious laughter. This of course, had lead to more of a yelling lecture, and eventually a full-blown wrestling match, in which the wolf had angrily joined to protect her owner. A spectacular stirring of dust had ensued, eventually leading the three to their current state of collapse and exhaustion, as well as bestowing a generous coating of dust upon each.

Val's expression was deadpan to say the least, his humor utterly removed by all the taxing events that had occurred during the day, and not to mention the dull pain in his nose that refused to dissipate. Blue eyes blinked back at him from a dust-covered face as the boy slowly began to catch his breath.

The little standoff of blank looks lasted for half a moment, before a slow smile crept its was up the younger man's face, and he was soon giving a lopsided smirk to the irritated Val. The older youth managed to keep his scrutinizing expression for a second more before he too was caught up in the sheer absurdity of the scene, and allowed himself another 'hmph' and half a smile.

The younger boy laughed lightly, which was actually pleasant sound when its owner had not severely enraged his audience, and leaned forward to ruffle some of the dust from his short, violet hair. Following suit, the wolf vigorously shook fine dust from her fur and trotted over to her master, all the while giving Val the equivalent of an evil glare. The swordsman crinkled his nose in return, and casually moved into a cross-legged sitting position.

"Well, anyway, what did you get, Damion?" he asked, brushing the dust off his clothing and hair. The boy hummed in response and rocked back to his feet, retrieving the large pack that had been so carelessly tossed aside a few minutes prior. Returning to his previous spot, he dropped the pack nonchalantly onto the dirt and unclasped the loose, tattered black cloak he wore, spreading it on the ground like a picnic blanket.

As the boy began to unceremoniously dump the contents of the pack onto the cloak, Val glanced over at his still active lightening spell, silently beckoning the magic to come closer and intensify. Glittering gold and a few choice pieces of jewelry clinked and clunked onto the worn fabric of the cloak, accompanied by an assortment of items varying from silverware and food to weapons and wallets. Val raised one eyebrow at the rather large pile of loot and lifted his orange eyes to Damion.

"Nice"

"I guess you could say I was on a roll today," he replied, smirking back at the swordsman as the final item, a gold-banded magic bracelet, clinked down to crown the top of the heap. He then set about the arduous task of sorting the treasures, placing the valuable in various hidden compartments within the cloak. Val shrugged, grabbing a portion of somewhat edible bread and scarfing it down while scooping together the rest of the food.

He hadn't eaten all day, and the food Damion had brought was all he would have to live on at least until morning. In the corner of his eye he watched the wolf lay down near the edge of the circle of light, having finally calmed after the excitement of the past few moments. _Good riddance_ he thought sourly. The creature and himself had not gotten along since their meeting almost six years ago, when the sullen puppy had clamped her jaws onto his hand the first and last time he had tried to pet her. Of course, she acted the exact opposite to his brother- playing the part of loyal, affectionate protectorate flawlessly.

Val hardly examined the next piece of food before he took a bite, and grimaced slightly at the flavor. It was a type of rich, meat-filled pastry that certain groups of nobility had taken an odd liking to in the past few years, and he could barely comprehend how anyone could enjoy the generously over-flavored meat pie. However, the thought of some haughty, prosperous lord finding his lunch missing was enough to have him finish the disgusting concoction, and Val was able to move on to other things.

His brother was still sorting the little trinkets he had acquired, sporting a rare gleam of satisfaction over the haul. He had truly become quite the thief: there hadn't even been any enraged civilians chasing him into the night this time. Which was fortunate, for as much as Val enjoyed fighting, he had had quite enough battles for the day and was looking forward to what little relaxation he might find camping out in the middle of a wasteland. Which reminded him.

"So how's that town… ahh… Veriku, was it?" he said, gnawing on a drumstick.

"Vekis. And if you're asking if we can go back there, I don't think anyone caught me," Damion replied, glancing up from examining a small silver dagger. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he snatched a chunk of dried meat Val was about to consume, tossing it to the wolf on his left.

"You and Talia are supposed to share," he said matter-of-factly, but with a small hint of mocking inflection. Val and the wolf had yet another death-glare contest, but he relented in the end. It had, after all, been Talia that protected Damion all day while he stayed in the fields to train. Though he really wouldn't have minded if the wolf starved, either.

"Anyway, the town itself is pretty desolate," Damion continued, going back to his work, "It's mostly beggars and peasants, and the few nobles that haven't left aren't the best of people. I doubt that place will last much longer, but for now its passable for travelers."

"eh…" Val mumbled in reply. He had been bitter to the plights of small towns for a long time now, and wasn't about to start caring again now. Dealing with peasants and beggars was not going to be fun, and he often avoided such desolate places. On the other hand, traveling straight through the town would be the quickest way to get to where they were going, and he was in the mood for a hot meal as well.

While Val was pondering, Damion finished sorting his newly acquired possessions, putting most of the common or practical items in the pack and the more valuable things in his cloak. He then reached for a loaf of sweetbread from the quickly vanishing pile of food and began to happily munch on the rich pastry.

"We're going through the town tomorrow then," said Val, finally coming to a decision. His brother merely shrugged at the notion, enjoying the bread.

They finished their respective meals, exchanging light chatter under the pale luminance of the lightening magic, and eventually bedded down for the long, chilly night. Val stared at the inky black sky long after Damion and the she-wolf had gone to sleep, trying to push away a tiny sliver of dread that had crept into his mind at some point during the night. Unable to do this, he was eventually lulled to sleep by the white noise of wind across the land and the steady sounds of sleeping breath.

The sun had barely paled the horizon when camp was broken. The brothers gathered their meager belongings, fastening most everything to the large pack, and prepared to head towards the town. By Val's reasoning, they would be able to get well beyond the town with a full days worth of walking, and reach the next town in another two or three days. But this would require a quick pace, and the violet-haired boy was taking too much time as it was to get ready. Thankfully, the wolf had pulled another one of her disappearing acts during the night, and was nowhere to be found.

Val tapped his foot lightly in irritation, looking towards the town in the distance as it started to become visible through the haze. He turned back towards Damion, prepared to leave without him if he wasn't ready. Standing next to a full pack, the boy had just finished putting on his cloak, and was in the midst of a teary yawn.

"Grab that thing and let's go already," Val said irritably, "we've wasted enough time." The boy blinked at him once, then narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"You carry it," he stated simply, obviously ready to stand off on the issue, "I had to drag it around town all day yesterday."

Val grunted disgustedly, picking up the heavy pack and shoving it into his brother's arms.

"It's _your_ responsibility, _you_ carry it."

He began to saunter away, confident in victory. Being the eldest by five years, he felt he had more than enough right to make the rules in the little group. He put on a blank expression when he heard Damion come jogging up, and in the back of his mind prepared to dodge the kind of stunt his younger sibling had pulled off yesterday.

But, the youth merely ran up beside him and matched his pace. Val was happy the little thief had finally started listening to him after all these years, and was about to reflect his appreciation of the maturity when he found a heavy pack slamming into his abdomen. He uttered a guttural 'oomph' and stepped back a few steps, bent over in pain from the surprise attack.

"_You_ carry it," said Damion, unable to keep a large smirk from taking over his face. Val was so easily tricked sometimes.

Growling, Val threw the pack back at Damion, who easily caught it, but was sent back a few steps by the pure momentum of the heavy luggage.

"You're carrying it, dammit. It's…. part of your training," said Val. He began to stalk off again, though he was completely on guard this time.

"What training?"

"You are weak, and I have to help you out all the time, so I've decided that you're going to carry around heavy stuff and get stronger so I don't have to baby-sit you anymore," quipped Val, folding his arms across his chest. Damion gave him a doubtful look; narrowing one eye suspiciously, then shouldered the pack nonchalantly.

"You're just lazy," he said, smiling when Val flinched and glared, "and I'm not weak."

Val stopped, grinding his teeth slightly, before he finally came to a solution.

"Alright then," he said, grabbing the pack from Damion and tossing it to the ground. He dropped down into a cross-legged sitting position and slammed his elbow onto the bulky bag; his expression one of a serious challenge. His brother grinned and followed suit, locking their hands together in preparation for the ultimate battle of strength: arm-wrestling.

Val glared at Damion with a schooled look of seriousness and strength, while the younger boy stared back with complete confidence. If he had not known better, Val would have been fooled into thinking the thief might actually win the battle, his confidence was so convincing, but as it was, he knew the cocky smile was just a farce. The initial standoff lasted a few moments, each boy flexing his arm muscles in anticipation, until Val said 'go' and the battle of strength was on. It lasted about half a second. Val easily powered his brother's arm to the surface of the pack, much to the younger boy's dismay.

"Hah, I told you. Weak," smirked Val as he stood up. His brother gave him a sour face, but picked up the pack, hoisting it back over his shoulders.

They began to walk again, vaguely aware of the sun's steady rise into the sky, and more aware of the rise in temperature as the scorched earth was baked once again by solar rays. Val had planned to be in town by noon, and had started to pick up the pace when the morning's dusty haze had started to burn away. Damion was not faring quite as well with the heat and the heavy pack, and after an hour or so, Val grew tired of his brother's panting and dragging steps, and relented in taking the pack.

The expression of 'victory at last' on the thief's face wasn't to comforting when he finally took the thing, but he was able to ignore it for the most part. They were nearly at the town at any rate- the low buildings stood grey against the horizon a half-mile away, framed by scrubby wilderness beyond the barren land.

Val sighed, but continued to walk. He hated traveling these dead areas; their very presence was a constant reminder of the war that had so thoroughly ruined his life. Taken his home when he was a boy. Taken his mother.

Val ground his teeth and washed his mind of those feelings, a practice he was all too used to after many years of remorse. At twenty-one years old, he considered himself beyond that fluff of emotion, and grudgingly accepted the life he had built for himself and his younger brother, however worthless and dismal it seemed at times.

They were close to the town now. The sun approached its midday position in the sky and shadows disappeared. Damion elbowed Val in the arm lightly, and pointed to something near the town, a few dozen yards away. The older man blinked out of his thoughts, and squinted at the spot.

The silhouette of a person, dressed entirely in black, stood directly in their path. As they neared Val could see it was a man, staring unswervingly at them as they approached, his long black cape billowing with the whims of the wind. His cold blue eyes glared at them between folds of black cloth, and his entire demeanor spoke of hostility and strength.

"Make any enemies lately?" Damion whispered from his right, glancing curiously at the stranger.

Val frowned in response, now glaring back at the mysterious man.

_A fight this early?_ he thought curiously, then gave the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth, _it'll be a good warm up at least, he looks kind of tough_.

When they were within speaking distance, Val took off the heavy traveling pack and shoved it back to Damion. Folding his arms across his chest, he stood straight and tall against the stranger, waiting for him to explain himself. The man glared back at the pair, the wind ruffling the wiry light blue hair that fell before his eyes.

"Well, what the hell do you want?" said Val, quickly becoming impatient in the full heat of day. His brother stood silently by, observing the interaction with great interest.

"Valgaav Copt," began the stranger in a low monotone, the words grinding the air like gravel, "you believe you are a human mercenary, aged twenty-one years, without direction or purpose."

"Hmph. So you've done your homework. But you still didn't answer my question," Val said, unfolding his arms and placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. This man sounded like a bounty hunter, or perhaps some revenge hungry killer.

"Hometown of Ruxtoul burned to the ground at age nine, mother Filia Ul Copt also lost at this time. Lives on the streets of various cities as a worthless beggar and poor fighter until roughly age sixteen. Little monetary value, few possessions, average fighting ability," the man continued in the same cold tone, as if he were reading a grocery list.

Val flinched at each word, his orange eyes growing angrier at the recounting of his past; a past he had thought no one beyond himself and Damion knew. With the mention of 'average fighter', he finally lost his temper and drew his blade. The man in black stopped talking at this, but seemed unimpressed by the show of force.

"Who are you!" Val demanded, brandishing the weapon threateningly, "What ar—"

The teal-haired swordsman was cut off as the man drew his sword in the blink of an eye, and moved into an attack with lightening speed. Surprised, Val awkwardly tried to block his foe's attack, but seemed to move in slow motion against the stranger. In three quick flashes of light, the stranger had easily cut through Val's blade in two places, and knocked the weapon thirty feet away in the dust.

Val swallowed hard as he felt the gentle pressure of a razor-sharp blade pressed to his throat, rendering him paralyzed. The edge was held so close that the slightest movement would cut the skin, and he could hardly breath for fear of injury. He looked up from the reflective silver of the weapon to the stranger, who had kept his cold expression through all of this and now calmly stared at his incapacitated opponent. Val blinked as his expression quickly turned from surprise back to an overwhelming rage at his apparent defeat.

"I am called Zelgadis. If you wish to know your true destiny, gather the treasures of Rathruun. I will return to you then and guide you to your end," stated the stranger in his low voice. Val merely growled at this, his enraged mind failing to come up with any way to escape his current situation. The stranger's eyes suddenly shifted to the side slightly, though his grip didn't change.

"I would not try anything, less you desire this one's death," he said. Val turned his eyes in the same direction to see Damion shrugging sheepishly at the stranger, two daggers in hand. The man turned his eyes back to Val, who gave him a deadly glare despite his helplessness.

"You have one year," he said with finality. His image then began to fade, and a heartbeat later, he was gone.

(' ' ) ( ' ') (' ') (' ' ) ( ' ') (' ' ) ( ' ') (' ') (' ' ) ( ' ') (' ' ) ( ' ') 

A/N: Yaaaaay, it only took 10 months, but here is the first chappie of Link! So proud… its like 4000 words and 12 pages, but whatever. It's all love. It may also be a bit confusing to most (all) people reading it currently, but all I'm going to say now is that it takes place 16-17 years after Bright Darkness (the prologue to this fic), and 21-22 years after TRY. Yes, yes, I know Val is an ancient dragon, but I have many good reasons for his thinking he is human and looking 21 at age 21, so don't flip out. In case I didn't make it very clear (which is usually the case), Val is a swordsman traveling with his younger brother Damion and Damion's pet wolf Talia. I'll give you three guesses as to why Damion's hair is purple and his eyes are blue violentcough, and don't flip out about that either! I have it all explained! Just…. Much later on . Zelgadis is here… and that prince from Xoana is definitely dead… and in the next chapter I'll definitely have someone other than Val's POV . A metric ass-load (3 years) of time and creative energy went into the planning and creation of this fic, so I wouldn't worry about it never being finished. Please enjoy… and read… or don't read, its really all up to you. wonders why I am talking to nobody …….Woo!


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I don't own Slayers, it 0wnz m3. 

Chapter 2

Val stumbled back a few steps with a gasp. His fingers brushed his throat, as if to assure himself that the blade that had so recently been pressed to it was truly gone. The stranger had gone in a flash, as if with teleportation magic, and had left his victim more than a bit bewildered. Damion watched from the side, his mind already ticking away with theories on their strange and violent visitor.

"D…Dammit!" Val managed to choke out, his hand clenched into tight fists.

Damion smiled, sheathing his two daggers at his sides. Seeing his brother defeated was a rare event, and quite a humorous one at that.

"Vaaal-u," he said, hugging the pack to his chest and putting on his best innocent expression.

Val finally seemed to notice his little brother's existence, and his angry, narrowed eyes blinked a couple times as he snapped out of his fury to look at Damion.

"What?" he said roughly, and then, after half a moment's consideration, "Wait, don't say it. Whatever it is, I don't wanna hear it."

"But Val-u, you almost got _killed_…" said the violet-haired thief, causing Val to flinch and glare dangerously. Of course, Damion took this as yet another excuse to patronize his older brother.

"And here you were calling me weak…"

Val's fist buried itself in the purple hair atop the thief's head, huffing angrily.

"Shut. Up."

"Owww." Damion gave him a hurt look and rubbed the top of his head. The  
punch hadn't actually hurt that much, but had its desired effect. Val's fury had been reduced to a mere simmering anger, and he stalked towards the town again, muttering obscenities the entire time with his hands in his pockets and his back hunched.

He had always been a sore loser, and it wasn't a fact he was good at hiding. He had been that way since they were children living in the small border town of Ruxtoul with their mother, and after that place had been burned to the ground, his stubborn inkling for victory had become a full-fledged obsession. Damion sighed, threw the pack back around his shoulders, and ran to catch up.

"I think he was a mazoku," Damion said between bites of cake.

"Hmm." Val mulled over the thought, absently chewing on a slice of steak. They were in a small restaurant in the wasteland town of Vekis, one of the few businesses that were still open and operating. The dusty streets had been littered with beggars, as Val had thought, but there were also quite a few travelers wandering about, whose money most of the business owners were intent on capitalizing upon.

"He was fast enough, and not many outside mazoku and ryuzoku can use teleportation magic," the thief continued.

"Yah, but the aura was all wrong for mazoku. I've never felt that kind of magic before. And that wasn't mazoku teleportation- there wasn't any sound and it looked… different," Val muttered. He didn't like thinking about his first defeat in years, it was still a raw wound to his pride.

"What else could he be?"

Val stirred his drink nonchalantly, considering the fact, but no matter how objectively he tried to think about it, he simply became angrier. How could some random guy out of nowhere defeat him so easily? It could hardly have been called a fight so much as a mockery.

It was as if the gods themselves had taken human form just to get on his nerves, and take away the unbeatable standing he had worked so hard for over the past sixteen years. Over his whole life, really. And there was the whole deal about treasures, as if he would take orders and drop everything to go treasure hunting for the bastard. And for what? Just the chance to see the ridiculously powerful freak again? He was either a real depraved guy or really confidant, and both options pissed him off.

"Ahh. Val."

"Hmm?" The swordsman looked up from his thoughts to find everyone at the restaurant staring at him. In his anger he had apparently began carving small ditches in the bottom of his glass cup with the stirring spoon, and the noise was none to pleasant to the others eating at the restaurant.

Val blinked and let go on the spoon, which was now bent into a wavy shape by his fist, and gave everyone staring an annoyed glare before returning his gaze to the table. Damion laughed as the normal tones of chatter and conversation returned to the restaurant's atmosphere, and a waiter discreetly removed Val's drink and mangled utensil.

"Don't think about it too much, or you might hurt someone," said Damion as he sipped on a milkshake, ignoring Val's deadpan look.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" sneered the swordsman, but took the point no further, "Anyway, that guy could be a mazoku lord for all I care, no one gets away with defeating me. I'll hunt him down and kick his ass myself if it takes fifty years..." Val clenched his fist, complete with throbbing vein this time, as he seethed.

"Mazoku lords are probably all too busy with the war now to mess with you, and if they ever needed anything, there's better mercenaries to ask," replied Damion contemplatively; ignoring the fact he had just insulted his brother again, "Hunting down someone who can teleport is no good either," He then turned his eyes back to Val and put on a cheerful expression, "If you really want to fight Zelgadis-san again, we should just get the treasures."

Val looked at Damion speculatively. He had been looking forward to a good manhunt, and actually doing what the Ze-whatever guy had said seemed nauseatingly wrong. But, then again, the enemy would be difficult to catch with his current abilities. As much as he hated to admit it, Damion was right about this, though his true motives behind the suggestion were fairly obvious.

"You just want to get that treasure junk, don't you?"

The thief grinned and nodded in response, not even bothering to hide his intentions. Sighing, Val conceded to the plan with a wave of his hand. It wasn't like they were doing anything but wandering from town to town anyway, avoiding the war and trying to get by at the same time. In the end, he only cared about getting to fight the stranger in black again.

The brothers' exchange was interrupted abruptly as a waiter came by with the check for their meal and tapped it lightly on the table before briskly walking off once more. The restaurant management was likely concerned about the ruined silverware and cup, and had expressed this with the abrupt bill.

Val picked up the paper with an amused grunt, they had essentially said 'please leave, we don't want any trouble' in a cowardly way, but they hadn't made him pay for the ruined items, so he decided not to make a show of it. The youth reached into his pockets, finally producing a small leather coin bag. He pulled the drawstrings and reached in, groping around until he found something, but frowned when his fingers closed around what seemed to be a scrap of paper. He pulled out the offending scrap, unfolded it, and read the message scrawled across its surface.

'I owe you 54 silver. Thanks! Damion' -Followed by a small cartoon the author had drawn of himself giving the peace sign.

There were no coins in the bag. Val crumbled the paper in his fist and shot his younger brother a look across the table, who, in return, simply blinked innocently.

"What the hell is this!" Val said in a less than hushed voice, throwing the crumpled paper, which tapped the younger boy's forehead before falling to the table. Damion picked up the scrap and read the message, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Ahh, I remember this," he said wistfully, closing his eyes and nodding.

"I don't have any other money, you idiot," growled Val. He then crossed his arms and gave the thief an annoyed look; "You have to pay for all this food now."

Damion bowed his head in thought, his chin resting upon his hands, until he smiled again after coming to a conclusion.

"I don't have any money either."

Val gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his arms.

"So we have no money."

"None."

"And no way to pay for this meal."

"Yup."

"What about all that stuff you got yesterday? They might accept some of that."

"I can't sell stuff back to the same people I stole it from."

Val sighed again and leaned back in his chair.

"So, we're stuck."

"You could say that," Damion said slyly, laying his clasped hands on the table. Val caught his drift. He really didn't like doing what he was about to do, but when push came to shove, it seemed to be the best way out of certain irritating situations. The swordsman cleared his throat nonchalantly and tried to look distracted as a light glow began to shimmer in the palm of his hand. He flicked his eyes to a side exit the employees used, and Damion nodded slightly in response.

Silently, Val closed his eyes and mouthed one, two, and three. On three, he tossed the lightening spell into the air with an accompanying mute spell, just as Damion covered his eyes and ears with his cloak and hands. Within moments the restaurant erupted into chaos as terrified customers yelled and screamed, and employees began to run around blindly.

Val quickly stood up from his chair and began to run out the door, grabbing the pack as he left, with Damon close behind. They managed to push past all the frantic people to the door, which led to a garbage yard attached to the establishment. In two long bounds Val leapt onto the large trash bin and over the tall fence, while his shorter brother followed at a slightly slower pace, but with much more grace.

They both hopped down onto the dirt road of the alleyway, and tried to appear normal as they strolled out on the public street once again. Concerned citizens had most of their attention focused on the commotion in the restaurant, and none seemed to notice the brothers as they nonchalantly walked away at a quipped pace. Once they had turned onto another road, they both let out sighs of relief, and began to walk normally again towards the town's nearest exit.

Val punched Damion in the arm, still angry that he had to resort to an eat-and-run operation.

"That's what you get for 'borrowing' all my money," he growled, re-crossing his arms over his chest.

"I borrowed that money two months ago, you're the one who spent all the rest," the thief replied, rubbing his arm and sticking his tongue out at his brother. Val responded with a 'hmph', and continued to walk in silence, still keeping an eye open for any restaurant staff or patrons that might identify them.

They had to get out of the town fairly soon, as the people in the restaurant would quickly figure out who had left without paying their bill, especially after he had drawn attention to himself with the spoon and glass stunt. This arrangement worked out fine for him, though, the town's corrupt atmosphere had gotten on his nerves all day, and he could not wait to leave.

As the two neared an exit, however, Val began to notice an increasing amount of police and guards running around the streets. _Shit!_ He thought, as the armed men began talking to random citizens on the streets, _they've already started looking for us. This place is really uptight over a stupid dine and dash._

Damion had noticed too, and had become quiet as they both tried to quicken their pace and look inconspicuous at the same time. Poorer towns sometimes had strange punishments for stealing, and, if caught, they might be forced to fight their way out. The sun was nearing a 45-degree angle in the sky when they finally snuck their way to one of the high, gated exits of Vekis, only to find the area heavily guarded by at least five armored men.

At this point Val was a little more than pissed off, and preceded to drop all caution and stalk directly up to the gateway. He put on a blank expression and tried, first, to walk through the exit as if the men did not exist, but was abruptly stopped by two large spears they crossed in front of him. The swordsman gave one of the guards that now blocked his path a deadly sideways look.

"Let me pass," he said in a low voice, trying to be as cool and intimidating as possible. The guard grunted and shook his head inside his helmet, clearly unimpressed.

"Sorry, no one is allowed to leave the area," he said, tapping Val's chest with the spear to get his point across, "Move along."

Val narrowed his eyes and refused to budge.

"Why not? I've got better places to be than this dustbowl, you can't keep me here," he said, his tone rising dramatically with each word. The guard gave him a skeptical look, and kept his weapon firmly in place, which only caused the swordsman to fume. Just as he was about to start a fight, however, Damion decided to step in.

"Sir, I apologize for my brother, but it is very urgent that we leave. You see, we are actually servants of the royal house in Zefilia, and are on an extremely important mission in the region, and have obtained top secret information that could very well insure the safety of the land and bring an end to the current war…"

Thief and guard exchanged stares of the span of many moments, Damion's eyes shining with importance and purpose, while the guard looked rather dumbfounded. His expression of surprise was quickly overcome by one of annoyance, however, and he roughly shoved the younger boy back.

"I'm not too fond of liars, kid. Now both of you shut up and get back to the main road before I-"

The guard was cut off in mid sentence when Damion stumbled and landed on the ground, and a glittering golden circlet popped from his cloak, landing and rolling before coming to a stop right in front of the guard. The man's eyes widened in surprise in the shadows of his helmet.

"Th…That is… " he whispered, his eyes flickering from the item to the person who had just dropped it, "Guards! I have found them! Come quickly!" he yelled loudly to his fellows. He then heaved his spear up to the fallen thief, putting the edges point dangerously close to the boy's forehead.

"Don't move, you are now under arrest on suspicion of murder," he said calmly, his eyes narrowed at his haplessly confused captive.

Several others soon followed suit, and Damion found himself surrounded by the points of at least ten spears, to which he awkwardly raised his hands in surrender.

"Hey!" Val called angrily from his location a few feet away, "you bastards don't know who your messing with." He reached for his sword, fully prepared to fight his way out of town as originally planned. Taking on a few armed men should be child's play to him anyway, and he always looked forward to a fight.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he had no sword, and had thus drawn a handful of empty air as his weapon. This fact stunned him just long enough for a guard to land one good blow to the back of his head, sending the bewildered swordsman earthward. Stunned but not out, he managed to stand again and attempted to put together a good flare arrow, but was immediately swamped with enough sleeping spell to put out an elephant for a week.

Val's vision became blurry as the spell took effect, and he blacked out before he hit the ground.

Damion blinked as the cuffs snapped tightly around his wrists. They were manacles, really, about 3 inches of heavy steel around his wrists and lower arms, chained together in front of him. The guards were apparently being serious about this charge, and roughly hauled him to his feet before pushing him along. They had taken his cloak and pack quickly enough, as well as the two daggers he kept belted to his waist, and had already carried them off to somewhere as evidence, most likely.

A crowd had gathered by this point; a horde of whispering, shifting people that many of the officials had to push back out of the way. Damion watched as the guards cleared a path through the crowds, sometimes pushing and hitting violently to get people out of the way. They were quick and efficient in their work, probably used to controlling the citizens by force and order.

The thief tried to look back to see what was happening with Val, but only caught a glimpse of a few guards picking up his snoring brother before being hit in the temple by the flat of a spear blade. He stumbled a bit to the side from the force of the hit; it was hardly a warning shot.

"Move it, kid," the offending guard growled from somewhere behind him. The thief narrowed his eyes dangerously for a moment, but began to walk in the direction they were guiding him with a blank expression. Always better to play it innocent until he knew what was actually going on.

The crowd parted like cattle before him as his entourage of guards continued to threaten and push people out of the way. The precession of police and prisoners moved through the streets like a parade, though Damion could hardly see where they were going now for all the tall, armored guards around him. There were times he really did not enjoy being shorter than average.

After several more minutes of walking, which were rather difficult with spear points digging into his back and chained arms being tugged from the front, the precession finally came to an abrupt halt at what Damion could only assume was a government policing station.

The tall grey bricks of the building reached far into the sky above, with each floor marked by a row of small, iron-barred windows. The dismal building seemed strange juxtaposed to the bright, sunny day, but Damion could only mull over the scene for a moment as the large double doors to the building were opened and he was once again pushed forward. The low garble of the crowd outside suddenly ceased as the heavy doors closed behind the group, and only the steady click of the guard's heels upon the hard floor remained.

They walked for what seemed like hours down a single main hallway. Counting the heavy-looking, identical metal doors that lined both walls of the cramped hallway was all Damion could do to keep from falling asleep as they walked for what seemed like a half hour.

He relented in a bored yawn at door 21, though it caused one of the guards to grunt angrily and jab him in the back with the handle of his spear. They had reached door number 57 when the guards finally stopped, opening the door on the left side of the wall and filing in their disinterested prisoner.

They quickly cuffed him to an uncomfortable metal chair near the center of the room. It was a small area, perfectly square with off-white, painted brick walls and a single, buzzing lamp hanging from the ceiling. The flickering light illuminated a plain wooden desk and chairs in front of where the prisoner was seated. _An interrogation room, if I'm not mistaken…_ Damion thought nonchalantly.

The majority of the guards left, leaving only two posted outside the doorway, leaving the thief to contemplate his situation. He promptly let out a heavy sigh and propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, tilting his chair onto its two back legs with precarious balance. He hadn't actually been arrested in a long time; years even, so it was somewhat nostalgic to be back in a police station. Ironically enough, the main charge was not thievery, but a murder he had not committed, though he would find out about that soon enough.

If he could not clear their names, it wasn't really of that much consequence, because as soon as he could contact Val they would escape one way or another. A slight smile played on the boy's lips as he thought of how his rather short-tempered brother would react when he woke up, but the opening of the heavy iron door to the room interrupted his thought. _Now the fun begins…_ he thought as his vision shifted over to the door.

When he opened his eyes, the ground was sideways. The groggy after-effects of the sleep spells caused his mental functions to come about very slowly, one by one, and kept his hazy orange eyes at half-mast for at least a quarter of an hour. His orientation returned to him slowly, and he realized his was lying on his side on a gray stone floor. He had apparently been there for some time, as his entire left side was numb with cold.

He tried to get up, but found that his hands were tied behind him, and ended up flopping onto his belly instead. Groaning, he slowly inched into a sitting position on his knees, and tried to overcome a significant amount of dizziness and nausea. The muscles in his neck and shoulders ached from mal-use and strange positioning, but he eventually was able to look around the room he was in.

It was a gray, dark, dank place that reeked of old blood and other bodily fluids. The room was divided in half by the iron bars of a prison cell, which looked to be heavily locked. The walls, floors, and ceiling were made of stone, with no windows. What little light there was flickered from two torches on opposite sides of the walls, which were separated from Val by the bars of his cell.

He sighed in disgust and annoyance. This wasn't the first time he had been imprisoned in his life, but he hadn't been hoping to repeat the experience. His solution to the dilemma was less then savory, but, in his experience, jailbreaks, like dine and dashes, were sometimes necessary in order to continue on in life. All he needed to do was break the bonds on his wrists, grab Damion, and blow the building up.

Val paused for a moment. He hadn't noticed his little brother anywhere in the cell, and on a second, more thorough glance, could not find the boy anywhere. He was about to call out for him when he heard the metal clinking of locks and bars at the door of the prison, indicating someone was coming inside. He had little time to react, but in a split second decided he would not risk being hit with a sleeping spell again, and whumped to the floor in mock-sleep just as the heavy iron door to the prison room creaked open.

From what Val could hear, three pairs of feet shuffled across the damp stone floor; two of them in crisp, long strides while the third seemed to be dragging his feet. Val had a strong idea of who the third person was.

"But I'm innocent, I swear! This is just a misunderstanding…"

That confirmed it; it was Damion they were leading in. Their footsteps grew close, and Val heard the cell door being unlocked while the thief still protested.

"You know, if you two gentlemen release me, I could make you both very wealthy…" his brother continued in a completely different tone while the door squeaked open, "I'm actually the heir to a very wealthy coastal family, just doing a bit of low-profile traveling to find a good site for a vacation villa--"

His voice had become strained- apparently the guards were trying to force him into the cell and he was not cooperating well. It was a struggle for Val to appear asleep, but if he 'awoke' now he would be in a good position to do anything.

"Just shut up and get in the cell…" growled one of the guards, apparently unconvinced by Damion's speech. Eventually, the scuffle ceased and they threw him into the cell, where he landed with an 'oomph' a few feet from Val. The door slammed shut, and the guards stomped out of the room, cutting off the extra light in the room after they closed the heavy iron door behind them.

Val heard Damion groan slightly and get up, trudging over to the back wall of the cell, where he sat down on the bench. Val remained silent for a few moments before opening his eyes, and quickly sat up. Damion blinked at him from the bench.

"Ahh, sleeping beauty awakens," he said, giving him a wide smile, "I was beginning to think you really were going to sleep for a week."

Val shook his head to rid himself of the last effects of the sleeping spell, and leaned back on his bound hands.

"I've been awake for a little while already…" he said, then paused to peer more closely at his brother's face. He had a black eye outlining his right eye, and a few other small cuts and abrasions to match. Val bristled at this, his fingers curling against the hard stone floor.

"What the hell happened?" he growled. The situation had become a bit more serious, and it was really starting to piss him off.

"Hmm? Oh, this?" his brother said innocently, shifting his tied hands as he attempted to get comfortable against the stone wall, "Well, after they put you to sleep, they put you in this prison and dragged me upstairs for questioning. We've been here for three days already and they keep trying to get me to confess…. Anyway, they found all that stuff I got," he paused and laughed half-heartedly, "needless to say they weren't to happy about that… especially when some of the things belonged to them or their families…"

Val snorted. The guards in this town were definitely going to have to pay for everything they had tried to pull here.

"But that isn't the problem," Damion continued, "Apparently one of the things I got was the crown of some prince that had been passing through the town, and the morning we passed through town his entourage reported that he had been killed in the outskirts, which is why they went into total lockdown."

The thief narrowed one eye at his brother suspiciously at his last comment, apparently suspecting the swordsman of the aforementioned crime. Val narrowed his eyes right back, and huffed in annoyance.

"If your asking if I killed anyone recently, the answer is no," he said, "I didn't meet any 'prince' out there either, just a bunch of weaklings and cowards."

Damion nodded and shrugged, satisfied at the answer.

"Well, regardless of that, we're now the prime suspects, and this isn't the kind of town to actually give us a trial or anything," Damion said, then smiled wistfully and tilted his head to the side.

"For my crimes, they're already going to execute me tomorrow at dawn."

"Hah."

Val stood up, scoffing at the last statement and closing his eyes. He swayed only slightly as the last residues of the sleep spells wore off, but wore a smirk on his face. He had heard enough about the stupid town and it's plans for them; it was time to take action.

By crossing his arms as much as he could behind his back, he could still perform certain magics, and began to mutter a golem spell to break the chains on his wrists. From across the room, he saw his brother's eyes widen slightly and the smile drop from his face. _Hah, even Damion's impressed by this plan…_ Val thought smugly as the familiar feeling of magic began to hum in his bones.

"Val, wai-" the thief began, but by then the spell was complete. Or, at least, the spell should have been complete, but as Val felt the finalized magic of the spell condense in his palms, an arching spark flashed from his forehead, then consumed his entire body in painful white electricity.

After a few seconds of this, a rather crispy Val stopped casting the magic, stopping the flow of electricity correspondingly, and stood in wide-eyed surprise before falling backwards to the floor again. As he fell, however, his head hit one of the iron bars of the cell, sending yet another sharp pain through his body and sufficing to knock him out once again.

Damion winced at the scene, then settled back to his seat with a sigh. The guards had figured the more dangerous and intimidating Val would try and use magic to escape, and had fitted him with a magic-sealing headband before imprisoning him. The cloth was rigged to use high-level electricity magic whenever anything magical came into contact with it, including someone simply using a spell.

It was only supposed to cause enough pain to get the prisoner to stop using the magic and to temporarily paralyze him, but of course Val had gotten himself knocked unconscious again, rendering him completely useless for at least another couple of hours. This left the young thief with a lot of work to do to ensure his and his brother's survival, with no help from the teal-haired swordsman unless he could be awakened again. And dawn wasn't that far away.

The town square was packed in the morning. It was actually more of a makeshift town square: the original had been destroyed when the entire central and west sides of the town were leveled by battle, leaving only the poor, run down east side to serve as the last remains of Vekis. Some of the more affluent citizens that had to migrate called it a travesty of war, while others simply deemed it just deserts.

Regardless, almost everyone was gathered for the morning's execution. They happened fairly frequently in the current times, usually either to nasty criminals that plagued the town or simply people that got in the way of the few remaining politicians and nobles that ruled, though this day's event seemed to be a mixture of both.

High above the swarming, ragged crowd, a group of the town's nobles and officials were gathered on a shaded balcony overlooking the town square. Such a scene was a common occurrence to them, routine even, as executions helped to quell the commoners' desire for blood while helping to elevate their own positions as judicators and protectors of the small city. This day was a little different though; they had managed to capture a pair of murderous thieves that had assassinated a visiting dignitary in the flattened dust that used to be the other half of the city.

They had interrogated the smaller one as the older had been incapacitated by the guards, but gotten no information on who had arranged the killing no matter what methods they used. In the end, they had only found the boy to have a hoard of items stolen recently from some of the wealthiest nobles, even from the very possession of their wives and children, and for this they had sentenced him to his death quickly enough.

The older one, also the one they most suspected as being the actual assassin, they were shipping off to the country of the dead prince in exchange for a rich bounty. No doubt the Queen of Xoana would follow her reputation for rash cruelty, and a torturous death was the only thing that awaited the young swordsman who had so foolishly killer her son.

The crowd yelled harshly from down below; the guards and executioner were leading out the condemned along the raised wooden platform to the guillotine in the middle of the square. The guillotine was new to town, they originally just had the traditional chopping block and muscley beast of an executioner to hack off heads with a broad axe.

But when he had retired the newer, less muscley executioner began to complain of back pains from swinging the huge thing every week or so, so the town's finance committee had finally folded and commissioned the construction of the simple wood and metal killing device. But, to keep fear and appearances up they still had the executioner carry the old axe when he lead the prisoner out, and it added a nice effect to the overall scene.

The small party made their way along the creaking boards of the walkway while the townspeople yelled and beat the ground below. The prisoner was leading the way, a boy who appeared no more than 14 or 15 years old, walking with his arms tied securely behind his back, the executioner's blade ready to press him forward.

To his credit, the boy did not seem fearful of this walk; his steps were light and confident, and he stared straight ahead of him with an unreadable expression on his bruised face. Those in charge of his questioning had been somewhat worried as to how the crowd would react to such obvious signs of abuse on their prisoner, but the citizens didn't seem to respond too negatively, with only a few comments of "poor boy…" drifting through the excited bloodlust of the crowd.

The group stopped at a small platform junction halfway between the jailing building and the guillotine, where one of the guards read the official judgment as the prisoner had to face the crowd. The citizens booed and hissed as the guard read a list of all the items the boy had stolen while gesturing to a table holding all the evidence, laid out on the boy's cloak.

The list was somewhat long, and during the intermission in his death walk the thief slowly looked up, above the crowd and to the balconies where the nobles and politicians looked on. His eyes passed over the highest two balconies, which held the mayor and policing chiefs, and finally settled upon the 4th one, which hung right above the crowd. There, the deep blue of his eyes met the orange of his accomplice and fellow so-called assassin.

Val stared back at his brother from where he was held captive on the 4th balcony, bound by arms and heavily guarded, but still allowed to watch the execution. He had been punched awake by guards an hour after they had taken Damion to prepare for his death, but finding that he too denied his crime and refused to name the contractor, they had hoped his watching the death of his accomplice and 'brother' would shake a confession out of him before they sent him to Xoana.

The brothers' eyes met briefly, Damion letting the slightest hint of a smile flicker on his lips while Val's frown only deepened. They hadn't been able to plan an escape effectively after his magic stunt backfired, and now had to rely on luck and circumstance to get out of this place alive. Not that Val had any doubt in this method, it was definitely nothing new to them, but while Damion was notoriously and most annoyingly lucky, he had just the opposite relationship with fate and had to plan a bit more carefully.

The guard finished the sentencing with the supreme evidence of the prince's crown, which was just as well as someone in the audience had seen Damion's momentary confident smile and thrown a shoe, which the thief had jumped to avoid, then apologized to the crowd with mock sheepishness.

The executioner grumbled, he took his job quite seriously, and shoved the condemned boy onward, where he stumbled awkwardly and almost fell amongst the uneven boards of the walkway. Up in the balcony, Val sighed and shook his head as one of the guards near him stifled a laugh.

Damion regained his serious expression as he marched towards the final platform, where the blade of the guillotine gleamed from the sallow light of the post dawn sun. The executioner followed; leaving the two guards to stand at the center platform and protect the evidence from any greedy onlooker brave or desperate enough to climb the walkway and try to get rich where the prisoner had obviously failed.

Moments later, heavy footsteps came to a stop as the executioner and condemned reached the final, bloodstained scaffolding. The executioner sighed heavily and the thought of killing a kid, but wanted to finish his work before the sun got any higher and agitated the crowd, so he set his axe against the railing set up on one side of the platform, turned to the prisoner, and secured a black bag of heavy cloth over the boy's head.

He was surprised when the boy did not flinch, even though he had just seen his last of the world. Shrugging this off, and adjusting his own black mask in the growing heat of the day, the executioner grabbed the prisoner by his bound arms and led him to instrument of his death.

Up in the balcony, Val snarled despite himself as his brother was lead blindly to the guillotine, and the guards surrounding him raised their weapons slightly in response. Seeing as their prisoner did not revolt, however, they slowly turned their attention back to the execution so as not to miss the final gory moment.

Val slid his eyes quickly from one side to the other, measuring in a moment his captors' positions and strengths, and cementing the plan he had been forming in his head for the past half hour since he had been lead to the balcony. The guard on his left leaned slightly over the railing as the executioner below turned away from the machine towards the lever that would release the blade. He stood for a moment, raising his hand in a futile attempt to silence the crowd, but failing this, turned back towards his task with another sigh.

It was then that Val made his move. The swordsman lurched quickly and violently to his right, knocking two guards into the stone wall next to them with his shoulder. Wasting no time, he turned and leapt, landing a high kick to the back of the neck of the guard who was leaning on the railing.

By then the guard behind the one who now slumped against the rail jumped to attention, lashing out with his broadsword as the prisoner with a vertical slash. Val leaned forward slightly, judging the path of the blade perfectly as it sliced cleanly through the magic-inhibiting band on his forehead. The guard stepped back nervously as the band sparked with electricity once, then drifted harmlessly to the ground. Val grinned.

Far below, all heads turned away from the guillotine platform to crane towards the balconies of the governmental building. Someone screamed as a bright flare of light made the walls glow orange on the 4th balcony, and a screaming man literally in flames flew over the railing and into the crowd below.

The civilians were almost silent as a figure stepped onto the railing, magic flames glowing in one hand and a bloodstained broadsword in the other. Orange eyes glowered at them from amongst long spikes of teal hair. Someone shouted "Demon!" And they all panicked.

As the crowed screamed and trampled each other, the executioner stared in wonderment at the older prisoner, his hand still resting on the lever that would kill the other one in a split second. Glaring narrowed eyes suddenly moved to the frozen executioner and he jumped, his hand almost pressing the lever down as his trance broke.

The swordsman on the balcony sneered and drew back the broadsword, his arm muscles flexing powerfully as he heaved the sword towards the platform, the huge weapon spinning blade over hilt horizontally. The executioner yelped and hit the level, causing a clunking sound as the heavy, angled guillotine blade made its decent towards the prone neck of the still bound thief.

The screech of metal against metal sounded out against the rumble and screams of the crowd, followed by a heavy thump and loud, echoing clang. The executioner winced at the sounds, perhaps for the first time in his career, and slowly turned towards the killing machine behind him, expecting to find the usual bloody mess.

Instead he found the broadsword stuck in the heavy oak of the guillotine, splitting one of the heavy oak and metal upright struts nearly in half, and stopping the blade about 6 feet above the condemned's neck. The executioner gaped and looked back to the swordsman, who seemed just about to issue some cocky statement, but was cut off as he flinched and turned, rushing back into the shadows of the balcony to the sounds of swords and fighting, and the glow of magic and screams of guards once again staining the walls of the enclave.

Shaking his head, the executioner turned back to the guillotine, and as if on queue the younger prisoner flipped over in his confinement to some impossible position, curled his body, and managed to push the slotted wooden holding piece from the top of his neck with the bottoms of his boots, sliding the heavy rectangle upwards just enough so that he could slide his head out from the contraption and flip forwards onto his feet a few inches away from the machine. The executioner stared for just a moment, his mind running over all the moments of action that had resulted in both prisoners being freed, then blinked as the condemned began to wriggle in his arm constraints.

They had not escaped yet, the executioner finally reasoned, and he twitched and went for his axe before the young one could escape his restraints, though that too should have been impossible. He glanced up to the balcony to see the other youth fighting with his back against the railing now; the guards numbers far overwhelmed his. They may have surprised them, but there was no way these two could possibly escape the city or their fates. The executioner grinned behind his mask as his hands grasped the heavy handle of the broad axe.

Meanwhile, Damion was having a harder time that he thought he would getting out of the arm bonds, whoever tied them wasn't quite as idiotic as the thief would have wanted. He felt a painful pop as he purposefully dislocated his thumb slightly, but through this was able to maneuver one of his arms out of the elaborate knots and ropes, and then shake the now loose ropes off the other.

Quickly, he popped the thumb back in place and reached up to remove the black bag from his head; the thing was quite stifling and disorienting as it muffled sound and blocked vision. Just as he lifted the cloth up over one eye, however, he was met with the sight of a rather angry-looking executioner swinging a huge axe at him in an enormous vertical arc. Damion yelped and hopped backwards, the axe crashing noisily into the holding structure attached to the guillotine.

Landing on the containment piece that had so recently held his neck, Damion stood uneasily and eyed the axe man as he forcefully yanked his weapon from the wreckage of the wooden structure. Facing the boy again, the executioner narrowed his eyes; his opponent shielded by the frame to his sides and blade of the guillotine above, and, unlike the swordsman on the balcony, the axe man doubted he could slice through the heavy wood and metal struts with one strike.

Realizing this, the thief smiled mockingly at his would be killer, leaned back while hanging on the struts, and glanced around at the calming chaos for an escape route. The executioner growled, but tried to use the boy's mocking to his advantage, and he pulled back a meaty fist and punched with all his might between the frames of the machine.

The kid looked forward just in time to leap upwards, hop lightly on the man's outstretched fist and jump atop the blade of the guillotine, still suspended in place by the broadsword. The executioner glared upwards as the boy now balanced on the blunt edge of the blade, hanging onto on the tall support struts and sticking his tongue out at the axe man.

"Bastard!" the executioner yelled in a rare vocal outburst. His job description called for a reserved, silent killer, but he'd be damned if a little kid was going to make fun of him, let alone escape his fate. He picked up his axe again and swung high, this time trying to knock the boy off the blade by striking metal to metal. One again, the thief looked worried for a split second before he leapt up once again, catching the very top of the 14-foot tall structure and hanging on as the whole thing shook violently when the axe hit the blade.

After the clang had died down, he swung up acrobatically, finally climbing on the very top of the whole guillotine. He surveyed what was left of the crowd that had decided not to flee from the battling 'demon' near the balconies, who stared back at him along with the executioner and guards in a mixture of awe and anger. Which was quickly being replaced by just plain anger. The people had come to see an execution, and while daring escapes were exciting, it definitely did not mean the boy was forgiven of his crimes.

Thus, Damion clung to the top of the wooden killing machine like a cat up a tree, Val fought with an angry relish against his would-be captors, the guards rushed to get their bows as well as control the crowd, the executioner took up his axe and began chopping at the guillotine like a tree, and the crowd people that didn't have the sense to run from the chaotic town square had all decided to yell their various opinions at all the above parties, except of course the balconies, around which there was a healthy breadth of empty space.

Of course, this all lasted for as long as it took Val to grow weary of fighting countless guards, and he decided on a whim to blow the whole place up. Concentrating for a moment after knocking his opponents to the side with a broad sweep of a stolen sword, he flung out his hands and called out the words that activated this particular spell.

"Burst Flare!"

The world alit with flames.

What seemed like hundreds of fireball magics screeched from their summoner, crashing through walls and burning anything remotely flammable, leaving trails of flame and rubble in their wake. What they did to the guards unlucky enough to be close by was a similar yet gory effect, causing those who survived to run off for reinforcements like mad. Val drew in a breath to calm his humming veins, coughing slightly from the acrid smoke of burning rubble and charred bodies, and looked over his shoulder to check up on his brother.

"Val-u you moron!" the boy in question yelled from his perch atop the guillotine, giving his brother a sour look.

"What is it now?" he replied in an exasperated tone, still catching his breath from using the powerful magic.

Damion merely frowned and pointed downwards, where his perch was just beginning to burn merrily and an almost frothingly angry executioner circled like a predator in ambush, awaiting his prey's now inevitable fall from the burning structure. Val sighed and prepared a levitation spell to go down and help, but just as he leapt upon the railing he felt an electric pain around his arms and neck, as if some invisible rope had coiled around him and was trying to drag him back towards the burning balcony.

He turned again, very annoyed with these interruptions by now, to find yet another group of guards, five of them to be exact, wearing different colored uniforms and standing in the crumbling hallway of the building. Two seemed to be held in spellcasting as they chanted and held their hands in strange sigils, most likely casting the binding spell which restrained him now.

"How many freakin guards does this half-dead town have?" Val asked, quickly preparing a counterspell in his mind. The leader of the group, standing at the center of the line and wearing some ridiculous helmet stiffened and stood up straight, facing the swordsman with a malignant glare.

"We are the last you shall see…. You have decimated half our entire regiment…" he said sorrowfully, his hand balling into a trembling fist, "But! We are also the elite, and we will avenge our comrades, whether it goes against orders or not!"

_Only half?_ Val gave him a blank stare, his mouth drawn into an annoyed line, obviously unimpressed by the heartfelt speech. This town was a bit too weird for him, and had already gone way over how much they could piss him off before he started blowing up stuff. With that, he released the counterspell with a sudden movement of his fingers, dispelling whatever binding spell they had put together. They jumped in surprise but were undaunted; the two mages immediately preparing more attacks while the other three drew their weapons. Val huffed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't really have the time for this…"

"Silence!" the leader yelled, and ran forward to attack.

And the battle was back on.

Damion frowned at the balcony where sword clashes and magic made the air shimmer, then looked back down at the scaffolding floor, where the executioner had begun chopping at the struts of the guillotine again. The wood was heavy and thick, not prone to spread the flames from his brother's attack quickly, but still burning at an unsettling rate. The thief sat down, his balance precarious on the slim horizontal beam, but he needed to think of a plan. That is, he tried to think, before an apple winged him in the side of the head, splattering juices in his much ruffled purple hair and tipping him sideways until he overcame his shock and frantically flailed out to grip the beam.

Recovering quickly, he sat bolt upright again, growling as he looked down towards the source of the projectile attack. The crowd glared back at him from below, apparently still wanting their execution, even if they had to help it along themselves. With a combined battle cry, the people began throwing various and very much random objects at him, and the condemned prisoner displayed amazing acrobatics as he dodged shoes, rocks, fruits, and anything else the people below managed the scrape up or catch from the other side of the platform.

After a moment of this, the thief caught one of the enemy missiles, a half rotten orange, before it became ammo for the other side of the crowd, looked at the fruit thoughtfully for a moment while dodging other things, and finally threw it down at the disgruntled axe man below with a laugh.

The man bristled and stopped his furious chopping to glare up at his prey, citrus juices absorbing into his mask, then turned back and hacked at the struts with a newfound angry fervor. He was almost through the whole thing by now, only negotiating with the oiled metal that guided the blade on the inner track of the strut. The metal was softening ever so slightly from the flames surrounding it, and was already made of an ore much less resilient than his own steel.

Thus, he continued to labor away, ignoring the burning muscles from his ill-used arms and the ever-growing rain of weapons from the annoying boy above him. Finally, he smiled to himself, the sweat dripping between the eyeholes in his mask, as he only had one more chop to go before the whole structure would come down. He looked upwards triumphantly, with good timing as well, as he saw the thief leap upwards, catching a dagger thrown from one of the more impatient audience members in his teeth and still land delicately on the thin beam below. He wavered for a second, then caught his balance smoothly.

Glancing to his left at the fire that now crept up onto his perch, he looked down at the executioner and grinned strangely, the small blade still between his teeth. He leaned back and threw down the rock and shoe that had occupied his hands, which the man below easily knocked away. As accurate as the kid's throws were, there was hardy any power behind them.

Just then, however, the boy jumped over a stick aimed at his feet, snatched the dagger from his mouth, and tossed it down straight at the executioner's face with perfect accuracy. The axe man grinned, having expected this, and brought up his blade to block the speeding dagger. Hearing the satisfactory 'ting' of metal deflecting metal, the executioner brought the blade back from his face and looked up to gloat at the doomed prisoner once again.

What he saw were the booted feet of his quarry flying at him, accompanied by a strange, almost childish war cry of "houuuuwhhhaaah!", as the boy had apparently decided to throw himself off the 14 foot high guillotine as his next weapon.

The man only had time to gape before two heels firmly planted themselves in his forehead, leaving the two locking in their battle's final blow for one frozen moment, before the boy leapt lightly off his executioner's head, landing with a feathery creak on the bloodstained boards of the scaffolding while his opponent crumpled backwards behind him. Without looking back, the thief dashed off along the boards towards the other end of the walkway, leaving a hushed silence in his wake.

Which then quickly erupted into screaming panic as the last bit of metal snapped in the guillotine, sending the flaming structure careening into the crowd below.

Up in the balcony, Val turned when he heard the crash and screams behind him, a worried crease forming for just a moment on his brow before he noted the unconscious executioner lying on the ground and his light-footed brother running along the walk.

He also frowned to notice that whatever guards were left around the square's surrounding buildings and rooftops had retrieved their bows and were taking careful aim at both himself and his retreating accomplice. He growled in annoyance. It was way past time to get out of this town.

With a smooth movement, he turned back to his five opponents, parrying or blocking whatever attacks they were trying in his momentary distraction with a broad sweep of his stolen sword. He then muttered a spell under his breath, sweeping his other hand in a low arc. Ice crackled in the air, freezing the three weapon users to the floor while the two mages narrowly evaded with barrier spells.

Not that that particularly mattered as Val lunged at them from across the room, slashing a bloody gash across the first's arms and chest while smacking the other in the head with the flat of his blade. The first screamed, the other slumped, and Val rolled his eyes as he mumbled another spell, pressed his hands to the stone floor, and called out the magic's name. There was a resounding crack as fissures spread out from his fingertips, after a few seconds causing the entire structure to crumble and fall; railing, floor, and frozen elite guards in all, as the swordsman leapt up with a levitation spell.

Not to bad for a day's work, if he could say so himself, as he panted slightly from using so much magic at one, and floated to the doorway and hall of the government building. As soon as he touched down, he sighed and took up his sword once again. The day was not quite over yet.

Damion stumbled as another hand snaked out from between the railing, an angry citizen attempting to trip him as he ran along the unsteady boards. He whined exasperatedly to himself and timed his steps on the fly, his reactions tested to the max by each crowd member that reached for his ankles or tried to climb onto the walkway itself to grab their escaped execution victim.

The structure creaked dangerously as another man leaned in, almost catching his target before the thief jumped up onto the railing, continuing his sprint along the two-inch thick, far more unstable structure, cursing as arrows began to whiz by their now more visible target.

As if his situation could not get worse, dead ahead two fully armed guards stood at the ready on the middle platform, still guarding the evidence from the now franticly crazed crowd and awaiting the thief's arrival with confidence in their stances, spears at the ready. Damion narrowed his eyes at them before his vision was drawn to his cloak, still laid out with all the valuables he had so fairly stolen four days prior, glittering becomingly in the rising sun.

His eyes sparkled as the gold did, and he felt a rush of excitement overtake whatever panic had edged into his escape. Noticing the boy's line of sight and the strange glint in his eyes, one of the guards snarled and moved closer to the evidence table, spear brandished threateningly.

But not quite threateningly enough. The thief broke into a cat-like smile, jumping off the rail and back onto the walkway, stepping on someone's outstretched hand and dashing forward, his back slightly bent in a lowered posture. He ran at the guards at full speed and with total confidence, causing the one nearest to the entrance to hesitate for just a moment before thrusting his spear forward, intending to disembowel the fleeing prisoner then and there.

At the last possible moment, Damion jumped to the side, sprang off the railing, and landed one foot neatly on the handle of the guard's spear. Using his momentum and the other foot, the boy swung forward with a soccer kick, landing the tip of his boot squarely on the guard's unprotected jaw. The guard's head snapped back as he dropped the spear, blood spraying from his mouth, and he stumbled backwards with a curse as the thief tumbled down with the weapon.

Damion landed hard on his back, looked up at the pinkish blue hues of the sky for just a moment, admiring all that was beautiful in creation, before rolling suddenly to his feet as the other guard's spear embedded itself in the soft wood where his head had just rested. Not to be discouraged, but unable to yank his spear out of the boards, the guard lunged to grab the wayward prisoner, who managed to dodge just barely.

Seeing an opening, Damion balled his fist and struck the guard across the face as he stumbled from his sudden movement. The satisfying smack of knuckle against bone resounded as the guard's head jerked to the side, and the thief stepped back from his attack.

The guard blinked for a moment. That punch had hurt no more than bee sting. He slowly turned a deadpan expression of annoyance on the prisoner, who was hopping from foot to foot apparently apologizing to his hurt hand with a pained expression. This being the kid who had just escaped their entire guard force and execution ordained by the highest city officials.

The guard frowned deeply, realizing the insult this bore on his whole squadron, then lunged at the kid again with a roar. The scrawny thief looked up, wide eyed at the sound, and ducked below the guard's reach before leaping up himself, head butting the guard in the stomach and causing him to stumble backwards. The attack had hardly hurt, but left the guard a bit winded, and he glared at the boy.

Damion smiled in response and waved at him, just as he tripped over his own spear, still jutting from the boards, and fell backwards to the ground with a surprised grunt. Damion took no time to gloat as he leapt up on the rail, gathered his cape like a sack, the valuables jangling loosely within, and began his sprint once again.

The guards recovered from their injuries and untangled their weapons, and he heard them cursing behind him as they gave chase. Ahead, it seemed some of the townsfolk had wizened to his path and had clamored onto the walkway, blocking the escaped prisoner's path with anger generously strewn on their faces. Damion stopped, caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, with no clear path wherever he turned.

Thus, he was forced to make a heart-breaking decision. With a final, troubled sigh, Damion grasped his cloak tightly then flung the whole thing open; the contents flying all around in their glittering glory of the still orangey sunlight. Everyone's eyes widened at the beauty that now rained down upon them, and some of the swifter ones in the crowd raised their hands to catch the bountiful rain.

With tears in his eyes and a tragic smile, Damion saluted the valuables as they fell sparkling to the ground, then leapt off the railing and into the crowd just as it erupted into greedy chaos, completely forgetting their former bloodlust and the thief that now weaved amongst their frantically grasping hands.

From the balconies, Val withdrew his bloody sword from the last archer, discarding the dull weapon as he took a tired breath. He had stopped them from pulling of any more than a few shots at Damion, but he had to run before they called in any more reinforcements. He smiled to himself, _wouldn't want to take out the whole town's police force, now would I?_

With that, he leapt off the top balcony, the nobles having fled long ago to escape his wrath, and ray-winged over the crowd which was now crowding all into one area, fighting over the noble's jewels and gold Damion had so nobly sacrificed for his escape. No doubt the thief would be notably depressed when he caught up with him.

Just then, he heard the deep bellow of an indistinguishable word behind him, and turned too see fresh guards lining the edge of the town square, sending a volley of arrows into the sky in an apparent attempt to bring him down.

Val 'tsch'ed at them as the arrows that did hit were deflected by the ray-wing's protective bubble, but the spell was still broken by some magic-imbued arrows they had mixed in with the normal ones. People screams as arrows rained down, and the swordsman spiraled out of the sky, bracing himself to land right in the middle of the newly panicked crowd, most of which were fed up with all the surprises and were running from the square, riches in hand or not.

He oriented himself quickly in the air, then stretched his legs out as much as he could without locking his knees, spreading his arms to balance himself before he hit the ground. People seemed to move instinctively out of the way of his descending shadow, and his fall caused him to land in a complete crouch, seemingly graceful and unharmed. But, the force of the impact still caused him to wince and fall back onto his rear, pain springing up into his ankles and knees, much to his annoyance. The guards flooded into the square, brandishing whatever weapons they had and plowing through the frightened crowd, and Val forced himself to his feet to run with the crowd, hopefully blending in amongst all the people as he shoved his way past them in his escape.

A few dozen yards ahead, the recently self-released condemned prisoner of the Vekis government threw his cloak around his shoulders, securing the small fastener as he ducked and dodged his way through the mostly taller figures that surrounded him. Sometimes, his smaller stature really came in handy. His old, worn black cloak flapped familiarly around him, and he felt much more at ease in his escape, however superficial that feeling was. He tugged the hood over his head in hopes of not being recognized and kept a low profile, weaving his way towards the exit he and Val had been caught at four days prior, hoping his brother would assume the same escape route.

As he neared the exit the crowd thinned out considerably, and he saw with dismay that it was still guarded by no less than four men, all alerted and suspicious due to the noise caused in the town square barely two blocks away. Damion sighed and slowed his pace, trying to catch his breath and think up yet another plan, then jumped when someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"What the hell were you thinking back there?" an all to familiar voice demanded, and Damion relaxed, turning to face Val again for the first time since the prison.

"I'm sorry, my safe little pole seemed to spontaneously combust and I had to make a break for it," he responded sarcastically, but still with good humor in his tone.

Val mumbled something angrily, but before he could think of a suitable retort, the guards at the gate recognized the swordsman as one of the escapees and began to move forward at a run, sending one running off to the side to get support.

"What the hell were you going to do up there anyway, wait patiently for them to lea—" Val was cut off as a guard thrust a sword at them with a yell, but was promptly stopped as Val easily avoided the strike without even looking, and smashed a fist into the offending man's face, sending him reeling backwards at least three feet and quite unconscious.

"I mean, I can't just go flying over to pick you up you know, I had my own stuff to—" he was cut off again as he reached forward, grabbing and snapping the sword-wielding wrist of the second guard, who had been aiming a strike at Damion, then hurling the screaming man off to where his comrade lay.

"This is what I've been talking about with the training thing, Damion. I saw you fight with those guards, you couldn't even phase that guy with a weak little punch like tha—" Val grabbed the long handle of a spear the third guard had throw at them, snapped the weapon over his knee, and tossed the pieces back at the now frightened man, who inched backwards slowly, then ran off, tripping over his fellow guards as he went in the direction of the fourth. Damion watched him go; only halfway paying attention to Val's speech as he let his attention wander to the growing thud of numerous footsteps that now seemed to be approaching them from the square.

"Hey" the thief said, cutting off whatever Val had been saying before, "I think we can go now."

Val stopped and looked around, seeing the now unguarded exit sitting desolate behind the still groaning guards. He cleared his throat, looking suspiciously towards the growing rumble in the direction of the square.

"…. So we can," he said, hesitating for a just a moment before turning gracefully and running towards the exit, Damion close at his heels, leaving the city with a mob of guards fighting a mob of people, a small sum of wealth now messily redistributed amongst those with quick hands, a halfway destroyed government building, and a very much burning town square.

**Arbitrary Yet Pointless Authors Notes: Ahh… yah… I know it still isn't really going anywhere… and I really indulged in the end with that long ass escape scene but Damion was just being so _cute_… Next chappie we'll get moving a bit more as our illustrious wolfie returns and the bois head off in search of the treasures of Rathruun (That's such a silly name… oh well .) And money… and food… and alcohol  (it is a rule that all slayer's esque 'heros' must be good guys only in theory… well, it's a rule I'm making up but still) I will try (pledge) to be less fluffy and get down to plot. Really. I swear…**

**On a happy note, this beast is now 30 pages long… yaaaay go me. Uh hopefully it wont take quite as long to write more chapters… but hey… school starts up in 5 days and… and…. excuses …. emoticon**

**Shiver**


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